Category: Personal

Memoir Writing Reflections #5: Marinating Time is Over

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After I finished the first round of drafting, I made the deliberate choice to not do revisions on my memoir manuscript since mid-January. Aside from reading the chapters for the reading event in March and organizing sample chapters for funding applications, I haven’t seen all of the other ones.

I don’t know why I chose a food-related analogy, but I thought letting the documents “marinate” for a few months is a good idea. My mentor author agreed. It seems like many other writers have done the same.

In those months I read two memoirs that have drastically different formats, which is equal parts refreshing and confusing. I suppose there is no truly one-size-fits-all approach.

I did my best to ensure my creative mind is not stagnant. I continue to write for the Alberta Filipino Journal, and some of my recent assignments were actually more challenging as they are more like articles or event summaries. Now that the weather is nicer I’ve also done some artwork again. And I try to write for this blog once a month. Heck, I even made a couple of submissions for a literary magazine. I got rejections both times.

Since I like scheduling and organizing, I’ve blocked a few hours on Sundays to start doing this again and actually booked it in my calendar like an event or appointment. I hope that the time I allocated is well-paced enough for the next two months, until I hear back from the different arts foundations where I submitted funding applications. I’m so very much looking forward to those. I’m excited to have professional editors look at the manuscript so they can chip away at all the awkward and ineffective bits and forge the final piece.

I organized my folders somehow like a factory production, where I have different containers (digital folders) to store various versions until it reaches the final version.

A computer screen showing several folders for a draft book. Each folder is for a different version of the draft.

What happened over the first four Sundays the self-revision time is scheduled in my calendar? I ignored them.

For the first two times, I don’t have any good excuse other than procrastination. Given I volunteer a lot in the city and I’m getting a lot of social media inspiration to deep clean my house, I have lots of alternative activities to do instead of reading through my files.

The third Sunday I have an actual legitimate excuse. My grandmother died and I had to focus on making sure I can communicate with everyone in the Philippines given that their time zone is 14 hours ahead. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings I’m still trying to unpack. On top of that, this particular grandmother, my mother’s mother, is an integral part of my childhood years covered in the memoir.

Now it’s the fourth Sunday of my so-called new Sunday routine to self-revise. I have so many volunteer tasks that I’m falling behind and I’m likely going to prioritize that.

In terms of the actual content I will likely not change anything since it is from the perspective of my childhood self. But my present-day self though, I’m just getting hit with more realizations and recently discovered family history that puts people’s behaviors into context. More nuance, less answers.

I even have other stories I wanted to incorporate somehow. Thankfully through the resources and advice I received I know I have a lot of options. I can write a whole chapter focusing on a experience. But it can also be as powerful as a paragraph, a sentence, or a phrase. It can be outlined as a story as it unfolds and experienced in real time, as an internal monologue, or a recent fleeting memory that can still be from the perspective of the child. This particular story I believe is very important and would enrich the reader’s experience of witnessing this orphaned girl trying to navigate a new reality.

This week I also submitted my report to the arts foundation that gave me the money, the grant, late last year. I’m supposed to report and show how I achieved my goals that I set out in that particular funding application. That was easy for me since the proof is very clear.

Now that grandma is buried and it’s my birthday month I really have to push forward with the self-revisions. That is, if my own existential crisis or health issues don’t get in the way.

Memoir Writing Reflections #4: Beta Reading is Remarkable

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Giselle in her home office sitting by her computer desk.

By: Giselle General

“Writing is a solitary activity, and it is so important to build your community.”

I understand that this is a reason why there are many activities, events and gatherings of various forms that are organized to give artists and writers a chance to get together. From workshops that help people learn specific skills, networking, showcasing one’s work, or even a working-buddy setup to prevent procrastination, there’s immense value in having a living, breathing, human being beside you.

The tricky part is that I personally need to limit my in-person community activities for two reasons. The first reason is I’m an introvert so these activities are meaningful but draining at the same time. The second reason is I am still more COVID-cautious compared to the average person. I had it once and would do everything I can to not get it again or spread it to someone else. Sadly, in most gatherings, hardly anyone wears masks anymore.

To mitigate these risks but also widen my writing community, I did a simple Facebook group search for writers and memoirists and joined three of them. Not too many though, so my feed won’t get dominated by posts from these groups. A lot of the time, I see people asking for advice on a wide range of topics: from grammar, editing, publishing, finding motivation, and many others. Reading these posts were so helpful. Also, I know that by commenting to give advice, or event choosing an emoji to express congratulations on someone’s success, that I’m contributing positively in a small way.

Several posts came to my attention about people asking for a beta reader, whether on how to get one, or asking people to be one.

In simple terms, a beta reader is someone who reads an unpublished work as a test. The writer, or someone else who is organizing the process, will give copies of the manuscript and ask broad questions about the beta reader’s experience reading. I wasn’t asked to analyze the chapters, check for grammar or tone or anything like that. If I boil down the questions I got after reading the book it comes down to “do I like reading it?”

Back in January, I saw a post from a writer asking for volunteer beta readers for their memoir. I just finished the entire first draft of my own manuscript and I decided to leave it alone for a few months. With the extra time I have, I agreed to be a beta reader for a person I’ve never met from the US. We messaged each other a bit on Facebook messenger, exchanged emails and that’s where it began.

I received the first third of the manuscript. I decided to make the experience as close to reading a book as possible. While I decided not to print, I changed the preview mode on Microsoft Word so it looks like a two-paged book or an e-book. I went through the chapters and answered her questions.

Since the questions are focused on impressions and enjoyment, I tried to find a balance between keeping my answers simple and giving some details on what I find vague or confusing that can impact a reader’s experience.

I offered to also be a beta reader for the rest of her manuscript when it is ready. She was happy to have someone who is from a different demographic from her (a younger adult woman from a different country).

Two months after, I got two files, the second and last third of her manuscript. She sent the same questions to gauge my impressions on the content as a reader. For some of the questions I had the same answer; for others, I provided more information and said that my answers from reading the first section apply.

I really enjoyed the experience. It’s an opportunity to see another person’s work in progress and their style in narrating a deeply personal part of their lives. I admire her for making the request on that writer’s group, as I imagine it can be daunting to show something vulnerable and not yet a fully published written work.

Will I do it again? Yes, absolutely! Even if it is a new way of procrastinating, it’s still a more productive way than most.

Captive Transit Series Part 9: Construction Zone Bus Stops

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A street in Edmonton with a temporary bus stop made with cement barricade, wooden platform, and 2 x 4 for the fencing.

By: Giselle General

This is part of an ongoing series of posts discussion issues I personally encounter while taking public transit in Edmonton. Links to other posts will be added on an ongoing basis:

What is a Captive Transit User? I learned about the term for the first time from the City of Edmonton’s website. The easy definition is: someone who takes public transit because it’s the best (or only available) option for them to travel around. The part about feeling ‘captive’ comes from the restriction that sometimes comes up, perhaps because one is too poor to own and maintain a vehicle, one does not know how to drive, or for medical reasons, cannot operate a vehicle. In many ways, I relate to this a lot. Though I’m pretty fortunate to afford the occasional taxi ride, and with my husband having a car.

I jokingly refer to my current place of residence as the “West End Construction Pandemonium Zone.” Although that is true, I cannot monopolize the title. All the different areas along the LRT construction route, whether the east one from Mill Woods to Downtown or the west one, really fall under this category. When I tell exactly where I live, though, people agree and do the small cringe that shows sympathy.

Funny enough, my commute taking the bus to and from our neighbourhood is overally pretty smooth. The issues I encounter are not any more different than my previous homes or workplaces. The new experience for me over the past year is the slight changes in the bus stops. Whether the east bound or west bound ones, every few months or so, the bus stop gets moved a block or two away. This is so the construction company has full access to the stretch of road where they are doing underground or above ground work. 

As a result, I had to pay attention to my surroundings and check the navigation apps. and I had to calculate extra walking time, and it’s best not to be surprised. The worst feeling is having to run to go to the nearest bus stop and see the bus zip past you. Learned that the hard way a few times. 

I learned that for drivers, there’s a bit of a learning curve as well. Sometimes, their digital screen doesn’t immediately update and so they will not be allowed to stop and let passengers disembark. 

The temporary bus stops would have the usual sign used in regular bus stops, but that’s where the similarities end. Since the stops sometimes have to be positioned in the middle of the road or right beside a sidewalk, there were these wood structures with platform and railings set up. There are no seats or roofs either. Depending on the location the ramp for wheelchair users are set up different ways. I suppose, portability is a factor in these structures so they can be moved wherever they are needed.

Snow clearing was something I worried about since construction zones are left untouched. This winter has been very, very good, perhaps even safer than the sidewalk near the houses. I suppose sparing a bucket of gravel to deal with an icy patch is barely noticeable given the amount of construction materials they have to use. I hope that this continues for however many more winters to come.

Being sneaky with jaywalking (oops) is something many of us bus riders do, because taking the very very longer way to cross the street and catch the bus is a pain in the butt. I am careful and know my basic safety principles when crossing the street so fingers crossed I don’t get hit by a car. Besides,  as a result of the construction there are fewer lanes on this major road, basically cut in half. So crossing the street the jaywalking way is like crossing a residential street that feels like an unmarked crosswalk. Let me be clear I’m not actively endorsing this – do at your own risk.

And there are times when the bus stop comes a lot closer to my house and it’s really nice. This is the case for the west bound bus stop where I disembark on my way home.

It takes diligence and responsibility of not only the city, but the construction company to ensure that residents and users of the road have a manageable experience, especially for a project that will take years – maybe even close to a decade, to be completed. 

My husband and I also walk by the construction area (of course just by the periphery and we stay outside the barricades), and observe the process. We can’t help but trade jokes about the pillars being constructed, given what happened in the summer of 2022. I’d take photos of the construction areas and sent them to my family group chat. My brother-in-law teases me that I’m overly generous and optimistic about when the construction will be completed. Well, I’d love to take his son, my nephew, on a cool train ride before he enters first grade so I can gain some ‘cool auntie’ points. 

The only other thing I hope that temporary bus stops have is better shelter from the heat and cold. Given that many of the regular bus shelters and stops don’t have it, perhaps it is a pipe dream. But, it never hurts to dream, right? It would also help in the summer construction months, to shield my eyes from the dust cloud right after a bus pulls over.

Memoir Writing Reflections #3: A Mic and A Stage

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By:Giselle General

The largest, most intimidating, and important activity of the six-month mentorship is showcasing a sample of the work produced during that time. Since I had a very specific goal, a first draft of the manuscript for the memoir, showing a sample of this is not going to be a problem.

Speaking in front of a crowd is also not an issue for me. I had my elementary school teachers in Philex Mines, Philippines, to thank for that. Also, since 2017, I have spoken in front of crowds about vulnerable aspects of my life because of all the opportunities during the Canada 150 celebrations. 

In February, I was frantically getting organized for a potential new job which started after Family Day long weekend. At that point, I felt that I finished the last wholesale revision of all the 48 book chapters. I was also preoccupied with another important task that I didn’t envision as a part of my writing journey – funding applications. Sure, I did it in September but I was a bit more relaxed and wasn’t taking it too seriously. But after I actually got funding and I realized the implications of having money to help with artistic projects, I took it a bit more seriously. Doing three comprehensive funding applications asking for a larger sum of money and offering a detailed budget was more administratively taxing than I realized. And another person had an artistic idea and wanted to apply together. So, there are a lot of numbers, deadlines, and persuasive language telling strangers why they should give money for our project. Clicking the Submit button and getting the automated notification that the application was submitted gave me a huge sigh of relief.

In mid-February, I had my final one-on-one meeting with my mentor author. A few weeks before, she shortlisted three chapters that she edited for me to read in front of an audience. I timed all of them and was so happy to find one chapter that fits exactly within the six-minute limit. She gave additional tips that I didn’t even consider, such as taking a couple of seconds to self-promote afterward, and giving an introduction with enough context since I am not reading Chapter 1. 

During the week before the event, I actually spent more time thinking of a meaningful way to show my gratitude to Wendy for all the help and mentorship she did over the past six months. I’m a terrible shopper and even a worse gift-giver since I tend to be anti-consumerist and simple. Then the perfect idea came. Since there is a nearby Filipino convenience store, I thought it would be great for her to experience my story in a deeper way. I purchased several products that I used to sell in the store that I managed as a child, placed them in a paper gift bag, and wrote a note. 

When I arrived, it was one of those instances where I was happy to be wrong. I thought that it would be a quiet, intimate setting with just us mentors and mentees, a dozen people around a slightly larger table sharing our literary work. Turns out, it’s a whole performance, with a mic in front of a stage and a dozen rows of chairs. My quick mental math estimated about 80 people. There were writers and artists I’ve seen in the past who attended. When I told this, my husband had the same assumption and was impressed that my fellow mentees managed to present a piece of our writing in front of a larger crowd. On top of that, it is a very distinguished crowd too, people of the actual literary and artistic community in Edmonton. It’s not just a random group of people from the general public. They have a deeper understanding and appreciation of the artist and writer experience. 

For the lineup of mentees, I was first, where I shared a chapter close to the end, right before I immigrated to Canada. People smiled, giggled, and shared a collective “oh!” and “aw” after I read some of the lines in the chapter. I felt they understood the rollercoaster of emotions that my younger self experienced in the stories and internal thoughts in the chapter. After my piece, I talked about the Edmonton Arts Council and the feature they did about my work, where I heavily mentioned the Horizon Writers Circle program.

Then my fellow mentees read their pieces. Essays, poems, prose, and story chapters that captivated and entertained the audience. After the formal event program concluded, so many people in the audience took the time to speak to us individually and congratulate us for being part of the program and for the work we have shared. The conversations went on for so long, the appetizers ran out by the time I finished chatting with people. 

As a treat, I went to a nearby sushi restaurant and indulged. Being alone at a restaurant table was also the perfect way to wind down after being in such a cozy and crowded room – classic introvert of me. 

It’s remarkable, partially unbelievable, that the six months flew by just like that. At this point, I need to wait patiently to get the funding application results so I can hire professional editors to polish the manuscript. I’m also purposefully not looking at any of the files. I figured that letting it sit for at least three months will give me a fresh perspective when I start my self-revisions again. 

For now, learning a completely different kind of writing is at the forefront. Political news release writing and speechwriting will give me new skills that I think will help me improve my skill set moving forward. 

Memoir Writing Reflections #2: A Thousand Words A Day

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Word counts and number of pages heavily influence my approach in writing. From Grade 4 onwards, in multiple classes from Language (English) class and Filipino class, we were required to fill pages upon pages of lined paper with paragraphs on certain topics. Some of them were comically dull, such as “what I did last summer” since for me, 70% of the time I was watching the store. I can cover that in just one paragraph. Since these essay worksheets have a defined number of pages and we students have learned that being suspiciously short lowers your grade, we learned to stretch and beat around the bush. Adding flowery words, extra couple of sentences, and extending simple statements with independent and dependent clauses are skills I’ve mastered well.

The page limit means just that – that there will be a point when I won’t be able to write any further. In my earlier years before I had access to a computer on a regular basis, this can be an agonizing experience. When I feel that I’m gaining momentum with the middle paragraphs of backstory and supporting points and then all of a sudden, I have less than half a page left, needing to hastily switch and make a concluding paragraph. It feels like walking into a hallway and getting smacked in the face with a glass door. It’s painfully abrupt. So, I’ve learned to “budget” the paper space ahead of time. As a university student here in Canada over a decade ago, I’m immensely grateful for Google Docs and Microsoft Word for this very reason. If I went overboard, I could trim the excess before submitting the final version.

For this memoir project, dealing with word counts and spitting out words is a whole new challenge. These days I rarely have limits on how long my write-ups should be, unless I have to submit them externally. As a volunteer columnist for the Alberta Filipino Journal for the past six years my word limit is simple, 650 – 700 words. Pretty easy to follow. When I wrote the historical essays for Edmonton Heritage Council’s historical initiative called Edmonton City As Museum Project, they had a maximum word limit, but writers get paid by the word. I tried my best to ensure I don’t unnecessarily inflate the piece while giving myself the flexibility to expand if needed. In both articles I had about 50 – 100 words left. With the CBC articles, where is also a word limit but the payment is a flat rate. It helped the editor with expanding a little bit more because they want to keep a well-written statement. Only the second piece went over the 600 word count.

Now that I had 40+ chapters to write about. I did some research on the average word count of a chapter for full-length books such as novels. I agonized on how many words I need to pump out in a day. With personal blogs such as the ones over here, there were many moments when I finished a post in a single sitting – usually about 1000 words. For some time, I wondered whether that’s a fluke or normal. This process of writing a lot – a whole lot more than usual – is an experiment on how many sentences I can spit out that are somehow coherent.

One of my husband’s creative people is J. Michael Straczynski, a filmaker who released their memoir/how-to book, Becoming Superman. What a remarkable and heartbreaking story of hardship in his younger years! It was also amazing to see how his artistic career blossomed. His is the first book where I read practical tips on advancing one’s journey as a writer. “Writer all the crap out and write all the time, and make sure that you submit before the deadline, because it’s amazing how many assholes don’t” is the essence of his friendly and utilitarian advice. I like it. It resonated with me and boosted my confidence. I’ve always completed my written work on time, sometimes early, so that the editor can have the time and breathing room to look it over before getting bombarded by everyone else’s on-time or almost late submissions.

This time around, I am the rule-maker. And the rules, the constraints, are actually helpful in getting focused. So with each chapter I gave myself a semi-flexible limit: minimum 1000 words that clearly narrate at least three scenes, threads of thought, ideally both. This resulted into chapters that are between two to five pages. When I see a chapter going beyond that, I find a natural spot to split the narrative, which prevented me from feeling guilty that one area looked too long. Instead, by giving myself permission to split the chapters, I managed to add a couple more paragraphs to help make that mini story feel complete.

My author mentor lent me a stack of books to help me learn various techniques about writing. She enthusiastically said over and over that numerous principles used in writing fiction are just as useful in writing creative nonfiction. This was especially useful and motivational for me since I am narrating a story – the story of my childhood as my younger self experienced it. One of the books is On Writing, by novelist Stephen King. Similar to Becoming Superman, it’s a memoir/how-to combination which I liked. Him sharing his schedule with numbers is the most striking piece of advice for me. He said he would write a thousand words a day in the morning, stay consistent, and complete a first draft of a novel in three months as a result. Well, guess who completed a memoir draft in three months – this lady! I was overjoyed when I read this. Will my works be as brilliant as his, who knows? It also didn’t matter too much – he had a lot of freedom and flexibility since he wrote fiction. I know I shouldn’t trap myself into stringent formulas, but a roadmap helps prevent the feeling of spiraling out of control. I also don’t write a thousand words every single day. But if a thousand words in 50 days in under three months is a workable formula for me, I’ll take it!

Memoir Writing Reflections #1: The Brain is a Marvel

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by: Giselle General

This year, on top of everything else my husband and I drastically changed, I added one more to the list. I finally started working of my first memoir, my first full-length written work. The initial plan was to publish something right around my 30th birthday last year. That got derailed by two major things: COVID and running for public office during a pandemic.

This is to account my initial reflections on this journey and observing my mind, both how it works when it comes to motivation and getting organized, and from a mental health standpoint as far as memories and triggers.

I had to check my email history and digital calendar to confirm the timeline. When you don’t have a full time job, the pace of time feels so strangely elastic and oddly compact, depending on the time of day. In early September, I took a chance and applied for the Horizon’s Writing Circle, a writer mentorship program. I recall being so nervous outlining my bio as an artist, feeling like a fraud. I suppose I had a few essays and got paid for it. I’ve been blogging for a decade and been an ethnic paper columnist for five years. But will it be enough to deserve undivided attention from someone who actually published multiple books?

I applied for the program in early September and in early October I got the confirmation that I got in the program. How exciting! I arranged a meeting with the author mentor in mid-October. Just like the other mentorship programs I participated in, I had a very clear goal in mind and I needed their advice to make it successful. When I outlined my goal, the summary of the memoir and the tangible deliverable, my mentor was excited. But it didn’t hit home for me until I hear her utter the words “Yes, I’m very positive that by the end of our mentorship period, you will have a first manuscript.” That felt so real, so tangible. It’s remarkable.

This is a precious time and opportunity, I have to everything I can to make the most of it.

This sparked a flurry of motivation in my mind and my heart. I made an outline of all the different chapters and themes of my life using blank MS Word documents. In a few minutes I had 40 blank chapters. Whenever inspiration strikes as the cliche goes, I would open a file and either type the entire story right there, or write short phrases of the smaller stories to write about. As of right now, I’ve been doing this for just two months, and I’m halfway through, over 20 chapters that looked decent enough to be scrutinized. Done is better than perfect, I tell myself over and over. It frankly didn’t feel like much, but when I say to people out loud, their reactions remind me that 20 chapters in less than 60 days is noteworthy.

Some days when I write, my brain somehow forgets to tell my body to breathe. After the keyboard clatters for a few minutes as I tell a heartbreaking experience, I’d suddenly gasp for air. Only then do I clearly look at the words on the screen, and tears would roll down my face. I thought that being triggered would be more melodramatic and fiery than this. I guess I was wrong.

In early December I had a dream that I wasn’t happy about. In my dream, somehow my father became alive in my current life as an adult for just one day. I was frantically giving him a tour around my home and around Edmonton, filling him in on what he missed for the past 23 years. The day doesn’t end, I don’t know what rudely woke me up into reality. I laid in bed, my eyes angrily boring holes in the ceiling as the tears silently fell. I know that this is from my consciously digging up memories and putting them on paper, or in this case, the computer screen.

Damn it, brain! Why do you have to do this to me? This wore me out mentally more than the other times I got emotional while writing. I spent the next week not writing anything new, just updating the grammar of the earlier chapters I wrote.

While dedicating time and energy to write, I had to juggle other priorities as well. There’s truth to the saying looking for a job is a full-time job. Taking the time to diligently search for opportunities that fit my experience level and salary range and writing a thoughtful application, that takes effort and a mental toll. I try to switch it up during weekdays, a few hours on job searching, an hour or two on writing, then some time for chores and volunteering.

This is how I remind myself that being unemployed doesn’t mean I’m useless. That I’m still improving my skills, using the ones I have, and making a positive impact around me in different ways. Sometimes it looks like the homecooked meal I made and a clean kitchen sink. It can look like being present at a board meeting and being efficient in all the items we discussed. It can look like a piece of artwork I finished for the home and two memoir chapters done in a single day.

Activities not related to writing or career help me stay grounded and balanced. My husband actively finds video games that a very beginner-level person like me can handle, and he is very kind and diligent when we do levels together where he had to do about 70% of the work. It’s pretty sweet of him. Whenever he plays video games that he streams to his audience online, I hear him talk about me and share fun updates about ‘the wife’. I sometimes chime in on conversations and his audience seem to enjoy it. Our group of friends have organized a weekly movie night, just like what they did regularly a decade ago. My friend asked for my help with pet-sitting and it’s quite fun being a dog and cat auntie. It’s actually nice having a cat on your lap being cozy while reading one of the books my mentor author lent me about writing techniques.

My suicidal ideation has never left my mind, but I am able to keep it at bay for the most part. It’s not by feeling more optimistic about the world – there’s too much obvious evidence that people and systems are harmful and selfish and problematic. It’s by keeping a little bit of hope that what I do matters to a small extent and it affects people positively, whether it’s just myself, my immediate love ones, or those who gets affected by any of my community service work. And that’s enough for now.

The Female Duet that Changed my Preconceived Views

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Closeup of two women singing a duet and holding a mic together

By: Giselle General

Earlier this month, a high school student volunteer and I were doing some community service work for my neighborhood. It’s a requirement for her Grade 12 Religion Class. She is a Filipino teenager who is relatively new to Canada and Edmonton, being here for just a few years with her experiences limited by having to attend school remotely.

She also volunteered for my neighborhood community league last July and August for her Grade 11 Religion Class during summer school. So we’ve spent some time with each other and have gotten comfortable chatting about various things. It’s been pretty fun!

During her most recent volunteer shift, she was helping me pick up litter along the public sidewalks in my neighborhood. It was tricky as snow has fallen over the past two days, hiding the pieces of trash I know were still stuck there for the past few weeks. We’d kick and shove the freshly fallen snow, pick up pieces of cardboard, plastic and the occasional pencil with our pickup stick and shove it into the trash bag I have open.

Feeling good about being outdoors in the cold for two hours and filling a large bag of trash, we went back into our community hall to clean up and warm up. By this time we’ve talked about many things that teens are likely to talk to an older cousin or cool aunt about – school, friends, crushes, Canadian culture and etiquette and my experiences with these as a Filipino newcomer teenager 15 years ago.

We switched to the topic of music and got into the conversation of beautiful duets we enjoyed listening to. That’s when I shared to her the very first time I heard a duet sang by two women (female voices) and how it changed my outlook on music. Until then, in my childhood years, I’d always thought of duets as something sang by a man and a woman as their vocal ranges are so different from each other. Until I was proven wrong.

It was in the early 2000’s and I was a second year high school student in a mining village in the Philippines. It was time for Intramural competition, and in my school, the performing arts and athletic competitions are equally intense. On the performing arts competitions there are solo singing, duet, individual and group dances.

The duet singing competition started. I remember being curious when two female students went on stage. They performed the song “Tell Him”. I got goosebumps hearing them both sing the chorus!

Tell him
Tell him that the sun and moon
Rise in his eyes
Reach out to him
And whisper
Tender words so soft and sweet
I’ll hold him close to feel his heart beat
Love will be the gift you give yourself

Their voices were both clearly feminine but were distinct from each other. On top of that, they were not acting like a couple singing those words to each other, which made them stand out even more than the other contestants. I remember the screams of amazement, the cheers and the standing ovation we gave as the audience right after the song. They were the clear winners for the category even before the official announcement happened a few days later in the award ceremony.

It wasn’t until years later when I thought of this performance again. I search the song online and watched the original performance by Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand. And as I listened to it, my awe and appreciation just all came back.

As I was telling this story to the student volunteer, I pull out my cellphone to show her the YouTube video of the original music video. She seemed just as astonished as I was 18 years ago that two women can sing together in such a contrasting and harmonizing way. I sang the first two lines of the chorus, both with the soprano and alto lines to show how different they sound individually, encouraging her to imagine how they sound when combined.

This song continues to be one of my absolute favourites because of how my schoolmates performed it, in the underground gymnasium of our high school. I don’t even remember the names of the students who performed, but I know that the community if people who lived in the village of Philex Mines is quite vast all over the world. If this post somehow reaches them I hope that it becomes an opportunity for lovely nostalgia of their high school years.

Like Father, Like Daughter: We Both Have Metal Dentures!

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As an attempt to convince his kids to take dental health seriously, I remembered my father, when I was a kid, basically telling us “don’t be like me!” He had metal dentures for the top of his teeth, and he during one of these conversations, he would take them out of his mouth and show them for us to have a closer look. I don’t recall any other details about what happened to his teeth that he ended up losing a few of his adult teeth and him needing to have dentures. He was too focused driving down his stern advice: don’t eat too much sweets and brush your teeth every night, or else you’ll lose your permanent teeth and that would be bad.

I knew he meant well, but back then there’s an issue as far as people’s perception of dental care in the Philippines. Since dental care is something you pay out of pocket, when you don’t have the means, so-called preventative care and checkups are out of the question. You would go only when there’s a toothache that is so unbearable pain or only to pull out rotting teeth.

In 1999, shortly before my family got into the fatal vehicle accident, I vaguely remember my sister telling me that she went to the community dentist on her own for the first time. That she was nervous and also proud that she went. At the time, both she and I are starting to see many of our adult teeth forming.

And when the accident happened, well, medical check-ups of any kind went out the window. Asking for permission, and for money, for medical and health related reasons was tough. My grandma would mock me and scornfully ask “did your father’s side relatives make you ask? If they want so badly to do things like dentist checkups form you, maybe you and your brother should move and live with them instead!”

2007 was a chaotic year for many reasons but January was pretty rough. After coming back from New Year’s vacation from the father’s side relatives, I asked the mother’s side relatives, who I live with, if some of the suvivor’s pension money can go towards a dental checkup. This infuriated my uncle and grandmother and my brother and I got punished severely. That’s all I have to say about that for now.

It was soon very obvious that two of my froth teeth were really rotting. Since dental care is cheaper in the Philippines, they were extracted and I got my new dentures less than a month before my flight to Canada on August 2007.

During university I managed to get a few check ups and fillings done for my teeth because I managed to stack my benefits. I learned that my benefits from working retail at Future Shop which covered 50% of basic procedures, plus the 50% covered from being a university student, completely took care of the cost. Perfect for a broke university student!

When I visited the Philippines in 2013 with my then-boyfriend, since I knew dental work is still cheaper and I was unemployed, I got a replacement for my dentures. I was sold to the fact that the one with a metal plating will be more sturdy than the plastic one. I was pretty irritable for a good chunk of the trip for other reasons so it was a stressful experience. The metal base had to be adjusted a few times so it stops cutting through my gums, but it was all good ever since.

After I got used to my metal plated dentures, that’s when I remembered that my father had a metal plated one as well! I whispered a little prayer then, apologizing that unfortunately I didn’t manage to keep all my adult teeth. From then on, my dental care routine has improved dramatically. I told myself, I’m the adult now and I can take the reins moving forward and take care of the teeth I have left.

When we moved to the neighbourhood my husband grew up in, he convinced me to go to his dental clinic so that we have the same dentist. Remarkably, my husband only had one dentist for his entire life, since he was a child! When Dr. Chin retires, I bet it will be quite an adjustment for him. Maybe my husband can reach 40 years old first before that happens?

The first major dental surgery I had was 2015, when I had ALL my four wisdow teeth pulled out at the same time. The bottom two are impacted, meaning they are not coming out properly and are kinda stuck, causing pain, risk of mis-aligning the rest of my teeth, and potential infection from hard to reach areas that I’m not able to clean properly. Again, huge thanks for work benefits covering the cost of all that.

These days, I go to the dentist at least once a year for a full checkup and cleaning. Even after we moved from my husband’s neighbourhood to a different location, we continue to go to the clinic of his childhood dentist. It’s funny that I seem to be more diligent with booking my appointment that he was. When I sit on the patient’s chair and the dental hygenist gets started with their work, I have to remind myself to ask “oh! I have dentures, should I take them out now?”. Then they would put it away neatly wrapped in tissue and inside a paper cup.

Every appointment I would ask my dentist to check on my dentures. At this point, I would have this metal one for almost a decade now. Whenever I ask, how are they looking? Are they falling apart? Should I get them changed? So far, the dentist keeps saying that the dentures are still in good shape and for as long as they are comfortable I can keep using them.

Maybe in the future, when I am in a position to have a positive impression on a child, let’s say being an aunt or grandma, maybe I can do the same technique as my father did. Maybe I can pull out the dentures, grin widely to show the missing teeth, and say “this is what happens when you don’t take care of your teeth. Do you best to care for them and brush them always!” While I wasn’t able to fully follow my father’s advice, those were due to childhood circumstances outside of my control. Maybe when I give the strict cautionary tale, with the support of the adults in their lives, the kids these days will be able to follow through.

Love Language Reflections: My ‘Unusual’ Public Displays of Affection

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A mural on a public wall of a man and a woman holding hands in the forest with a quote "Did you know, you're my love, C & G. Giselle G."

By: Giselle General

In some ways we are unconventional and I love it! My husband likes to tease me about the ways I have showed ‘public affection’, more specifically, broadcasting about our relationship and marriage.

I’d usually respond, “Well, what do you expect when you are married to someone so amazing?”

Public Art

Around summer 2017, because it was the 150th year anniversary of Canada being founded, there were numerous projects and community activities to participate in. In our former neighbourhood, we applied for grant funding to achieve two goals in one – a community building exercise and a combination of public art with prevention of unwanted graffiti. Over a few weekends, residents had a chance to sign up for a spot, plan their artistic idea, and go to the public sound barrier walls to paint their masterpiece.

During that weekend in June I multitasked, supporting everyone painting by making sure they have enough paint and snacks, while painting my own mural as well. As a result, I made a simple, cutesy painting of him and me, with the phrase “Did You Know You’re My Love”. It was fun and five years later, while some of the paint is fading a bit, it is still in good shape. The best part, even after we moved to a different neighbourhood here on the west end, we can still visit the location by walking. And it’s so much fun dropping by to see our mural, and the dozens of other ones painted during that summer.

Public Speeches

While I’m not as frequent and intense as Ned from the Try Guys that I mention my spouse every single moment of every single day, I’d like to think I make up for it in quality. Back in 2019, I was nervous when I applied as a speaker for Edmonton’s Next Gen speaking event called Pecha Kucha Night. My topic can be described as bit too personal and perhaps uncomfortable for a public audience. It’s titled “Dating a Sexual Assault Survivor”. But I felt in my heart, that my husband and everything he did was amazing, particularly when it comes to caring for someone with a lot of traumatic baggage, and there is a lot.

I was so relieved that I got accepted as a speaker. A bonus is that the event took place a month after our wedding, which was in front of the mural I painted a few years back. It was the perfect way to end the speech. When I got to the part where I said “so a few months ago, I proposed to him and he said yes!” and the large screen showed a wedding photo, cheers erupted from the audience. With all that said, the most valuable part for me is sharing my experience and potentially useful advice on how to love, care and be intimate with a sexual assault survivor. I hope that other couples were able to learn something from it.

Public Articles

While sure, we have our artwork in our house and our private diaries over the years, another way our relationship has been documented publicly is through articles, paid freelance articles, where my relationship with him is a major aspect of the topic.

There’s these two ones through CBC, a major broadcasting outlet in Canada:

And there’s this other one from a local project focused on preserving local heritage and stories:

Whenever I write something that will be published in a large platform like this, I strive to be mindful of the content and language. There are a some topics he is sensitive about so I don’t include it at all. The angle always focused on being informative, maybe a bit romantic but not necessarily explicitly sexual, wholesome and inspirational. So far, I am three for three in these articles. For my larger scale writing projects, this is something I will strive to maintain.

The husband accepts the fact that I’m a bit of a public figure in my own way, and I like to do projects and activities that reaches a wide audience sometimes. As a couple, we have embraced and enjoyed avoiding the trap of obligatory gift-giving for every single occasion, which has saved us a lot of stress and money. I’d say that these are more fun and something you cannot buy from a store!

The Last Birthday Gift I got from My Parents

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Closeup of a child wearing pink pyjamas holding a yellow birthday gift box.

By: Giselle General

It was May 1999, and my family is planning for another set of birthday celebrations. As my brother and I are born on the same month, and less than two weeks apart, the family is not very keen on having two large-scale parties so close to each other. In our small village in Philex Mines in the Philippines, birthday parties usually consist of inviting dozens of neighbours and their entire families, the adults and the kids. So it is a big affair.

My sister is a year and a half older than me and a bit taller. Her love of sports made her pretty fit and athletic. Also being the oldest, I imagine that even then, my parents were already either asking her help for more mature things, or she started being privy to information that wasn’t passed on to me or my brother.

My parent’s closet in their bedroom has four shelves. The top shelf was too high that I cannot reach it. Even climbing on top of the first shelf to boost me up wasn’t enough. I’m unable to cling onto the edge of the top shelf, let alone stick my arm further to search for whatever is inside.

Like most siblings, my sister loves teasing me. Well, it’s more of a back and forth really. She loves to give me jump scares, hiding on a hallway or behind the door and as soon as I walk by, she would jump and startle me. I tease her about being afraid of the dark, that whenever the electricity shuts down and it’s pitch black, she’d shriek and grab my arm for dear life.

It looked like she knew ahead of time what our parents bought me for my birthday. She said that as a surprise, our parents tucked it at the very far back of the top shelf of their closet. I thought, darn it, they are smart!

Their bedroom is not always open so I knew I had to be swift if I wanted to find out what it was. Apparently it was already gift wrapped so it should be easy to spot. But try as I might, I still haven’t grown tall enough to climb up and reach.

Then a week before the birthday celebration, my sister said that she’s positive that I will like the gift they got for me. But apparently, our parents moved it to a different cabinet. Disappointed, I stopped searching around altogether. The birthday party is just a few days anyway.

Then it was the day of the party! It was pretty fun as always, with our neighbourhood friends – both kids and parents – enjoying the treats and the balloons and just getting together. It was my turn to blow the candle for my cake, a green and white pandan-flavoured cake like I requested. Then it was my brother’s turn. Since he is still pretty little as it is his fourth birthday, my mother held him as he tried to lean on the cake to blow his candle.

And then finally I got my gift! It was a skipping rope (back then we call them Jumping Rope) and I was indeed delighted! My sister sheepishly told me that actually, our parents didn’t move the gift away from the cabinet. She just thought saying that will make me stop snooping around and ruin my own surprise.

That skipping rope was well used and well loved over the next few months. In our house it is the only one we have that is factory made, with the fancy colorful rope and plastic handles. My sister, her best friend, and I would spend afternoons trying to beat each other’s records for the most amount of jumps in a row. Sometimes they would show off by skipping barefoot. That never appealed to me – I had to wear flip flops at least.

And then a few months later, the accident happened, the one that killed my sister and both of our parents. Since I had a fractured skull, I was prohibited from doing any physical activities. I never saw that skipping rope ever again. I was also stopped from returning to the community Martial Arts class our parents registered us for.

I thought about it for a while as an adult. For some reason I’ve felt reluctant to get myself another one. Perhaps in my mind, it seems like it’s something only for little children. Despite seeing ads and videos of people doing skip rope in professional gyms, it didn’t resonate with me.

Four skipping ropes and two small hand weights on a gym floor

But all that changed this summer, right after I resigned from my job. I finally bought myself one, one of those sleek, athletic looking ones from the gym equipment section of the store. To my relief and delight, the rope is adjustable. I have the height of a 10 year old child so I was a bit worried it would be too long and awkward for me.

The first time I tried it again it was awkward. Since about six years ago I started suffering from plantars fasciitis and I had to be more careful when my feet land! I had to make a dozen attempts to get the rhythm right as well. After a few days, skipping rope felt comfortable and delightful again! A goal for my summer being unemployed is to recapture how life was like when I was a kid, to have a leisurely summer again. With the other activities I did, plus the skipping rope, that goal was achieved!